


Ghosts in the room

by hiddendaisy1821



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Love, Childhood Memories, Dysfunctional Family, Episode Fix-It: s04e03 The Final Problem, Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, F/M, Family Secrets, Gen, Holmes Brothers, Mycroft Being Mycroft, POV Sherlock Holmes, Protective Mycroft, Sherlock Series 4 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-26 08:57:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9878147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddendaisy1821/pseuds/hiddendaisy1821
Summary: "How could I forget?" he asked as Mycroft released a breath, looking tired and beaten down. Like it had held him prisoner all his life. The fact that there were three, not two. There was more than one ghost in Baker Street, and the time has come to unravel it all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot Sherlock character study but then it turned into a big series 4 rewrite. So spoilers for all of series 4. This fic is my version of the series, exploring more deeply the Holmes family dynamic, Sherlock and the people that made him who he is today.

-/-

**Part 1**

_I need you to promise me Sherlock._

The words of two people closest to him plagued him as he turned away from John's house. It's what he went back to when instead of John he was met with Molly's pitiful eyes, when his friend's words threatened to drawn him.

But really, since when did Sherlock Holmes make promises?

The sudden contact pulled him back from his thoughts. He glared at the person who bumped into him, because there was no way it could be the other way around. John didn't want to see him, according to him he has destroyed everything. As if he didn't know Sherlock, didn't understand that he won't stop until it is done.

_Miss me..._

The damn words seemed to mock him at the time. Mary was gone. Another person he let into his life left him. A heavy cost he wasn't sure how to repay.

_Let's have dinner._

He pulled the collar of his coat around tighter. The crisp air always cleared his mind but this time it just added to the weight on his shoulders. He waited for the light to turn green so he could cross the street.

"Done with visiting the mourning family, dear brother?"

He glanced at Mycroft, who appeared next to him. Always a big brother, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. Today he wasn't sure he minded.

"It is above my emotional capabilities as many assume."

He heard the sigh but he didn't want to turn in case his brother could read him. He wasn't sure he had the energy to hide the sorrow from his face. Wasn't sure he wanted to either.

"They never learn and neither do you brother."

The tone was indifferent but he knew better and it was not something he often noticed, but the sympathy was there, or as close as Mycroft will ever get to it.

"I don't need your input today Mycroft, go lead the government or whatever it is you do these days since you couldn't see the bad seed in your own shop."

"I had my suspicions."

"I'm sure you did." Sherlock couldn't hide the spite in his voice. The cost was just too high.

_Save John._

Oh for God's sake, the man didn't even want anything to do with him! How the hell was he supposed to do that? The wind picked up and he felt his body shudder at the cold. Mary believed he could do it.

_Go to hell Sherlock Holmes._

He knew what she meant by it but still his brain rebelled at the notion. John will never forgive him for it. Another time he takes the dive into the deep end.

Another fall.

A permanent destination he maybe even desired, needed.

"I see that the death of Mary was a bigger blow than I expected brother. I guess inevitability...Some things are impossible to escape Sherlock."

Mycroft still followed him like a shadow beside him and as much as he liked his company, he couldn't help but despise his presence now.

"What now Mycroft, hm? Again poor Sherlock... unable to control his emotions."

The fury was there and he couldn't keep it in. Lashing out was the only thing that felt familiar. Warm. The self-loathing that bled in his veins.

"No brother dear," Mycroft said, looking a bit defeated himself for a moment, if it was even possible to acknowledge the man as anything but stoic.

"The humanity. Lately I have trouble seeing things correctly I admit."

He glanced at the phone Mycroft had in his hand. The screen was bright with a simple message, he wasn't going to even begin to understand. His brain had got him in enough trouble as it was.

_2pm appointment - Sherrinford_

He tried to switch his brain to something else.

"At least you admit it Mycroft. Had enough of you being all high and mighty."

"You are the same Sherlock."

"Oh sod it!"

An expected sigh and a raised eyebrow were almost enough to make him feel like they were kids again and he was in trouble. Mycroft was the first he went to then.

"Real mature."

He really couldn't handle another battle of wits today. He just needed a place to turn it all off.

"Yes I am sure you will say so the next time we see each other."

He was surprised that they made it to the Baker Street already. Relief that he didn't need to hold this mask for much longer overwhelmed him.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him. A sharp gaze from Mycroft had him rooted in his spot.

"Remember the list and do take care, dear brother."

It was as affectionate as the two of them will ever get, but he understood his worry and support underneath. He nodded in return and headed inside.

His feet dragged every incoming step and the stairs creaked with his weight. He felt like them. Moaning at the sudden strain.

He stepped into the flat and his eyes zeroed on the laptop that still blinked the video at its end.

_Go to hell Sherlock._

A headache came on and he shook himself to present. He went to get some tea as his body suddenly shook and he collapsed next to the small cabinet. Leaning his head on it he couldn't snap out of it.

The anguish, expectation, anger, and the need to do something to fix this all blended into one.

_Look at the poor man._

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" he shouted.

He didn't need this. He opened the small cabinet and pulled out a syringe. A familiar friend. Before he knew what he was doing he felt the sting and his head lolled back as he lost himself in the patterns on the ceiling.

A seductive gasp from his phone made a familiar sound.

_The woman._

He could almost hear her.

"The great detective and here you are, like this. I thought you are better than this."

His head was like a carousel, too much noise and not enough at the same time.

"I am… I am better."

His body convulsed in shock and over stimulation that attacked his senses.

"Then be better Sherlock."

The voice low, yet as always it held his attention. His need for something to prove to himself. To her.

He snapped his eyes open and she was there kneeling in front of him, her hands on his knees and her face inches from his. The comfort of her presence.

"You…" he only managed, his breath mingled with hers. She raised an eyebrow and an amused smile to match.

"Who else did you expect?"

No one. Comfort. His hand was numb, the veins on fire and hands shaking. He was losing his damn mind.

_Irene Adler._

He expected many things and this wasn't one of them.

"You aren't real… you're not here. Now." he muttered as he tried to focus on anything but her. He needed to escape but not there and not now.

"Come now Sherlock, you need to let go of the rains. Let the control over your mind slip. Who else is better to lead you through it?"

Even her mannerisms, the slight movement of the hand along his shoulders while her eyes followed the same pattern were there. Her hand came to trace the side of his head as her finger tapped along his brow.

"Who else but the one who spent so much time up in there, hm Sherlock? There's no one else."

He was lost in the moment. His eyes traced her, knowing that it is his mind conjuring her here. Still, he couldn't let go.

"There's no one else." he answered and felt a sudden relief probably because the drugs were taking effect. Still he wasn't sure because that was how he always felt around her. Out of touch and on edge.

"Good," she said as she stood up and glanced around his kitchen that probably looked like a drug lab or something equally alarming.

She raised a brow as she cast a look over her shoulder. He always resorted to the same comfort. The drugs were always there when he needed to escape. Needed to think, make it better.

"How?"

He glanced at her as she was still turned and looking over individual items.

"What?"

"How can you make it better? Mary is gone Sherlock, because of you."

He shook his head, the nausea making itself present as he tried to breathe.

"I…"

She dropped something with a loud bang and turned swiftly, her eyes burning into his.

"You can't Sherlock."

His vision blurred. Damn it all to hell. His cheeks felt wet and suddenly her hand was there tracing along the miserable lines.

Her eyes filled with understanding that he couldn't and wouldn't take.

"I know, I know, I know…" he whispered along as his voice went hoarse from the pain he felt.

"There's no making it better Sherlock. You can only take solace in trying to do your best to make it hurt less with time."

He tried to move himself back to the couch but only managed to fall back to his familiar chair with her in the same position in front of him like last time.

_I took your pulse._

Damn it all, why does he always go back to that… He needed to think. Clear his head. He glanced at the cabinet with the rest of the drugs. Her face blurred before him. No, he doesn't need that.

_Go to hell…_

He was already there it would seem. Tears wouldn't stop and she wouldn't look away.

"I screwed up. I made a mistake."

He felt the pressure of her hand gliding and tracing along his. Just like she did back then.

"There… that wasn't so hard. Now, what are you going to do about it?"

He tried to make it as obvious as he could and in his head it sounded clear.

"Listen to Mary. Go to hell and save John."

She nodded in return, almost looking proud of him.

"Can you take it Sherlock and not go all the way down?"

He doubted it at times but now he confidently smiled and held her gaze.

"If I do you'll be there to bring me back, won't you?"

He traced her cheek as she did moments before and then tapped his finger on her forehead, smiling in confidence. She did the same.

"Where else would I be…?"

Mischief and amusement were dancing on her face and he couldn't help but feel ready for what he needed to do.

"Good," he replied and stood up to get his coat. The game was on and as he looked at the famous businesses man showcasing his newest donation to charity, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe he was wrong.

She will be there to tell him otherwise. With that he left the flat. Things needed to be done. He had two weeks to make it so.


	2. Chapter 2

The door opened (or did he let her in?). Either way she was there. The woman, girl, middle age – no, younger. Blond, glasses. Tired and afraid.

"Are you Sherlock Holmes?"

Timid voice - not someone who is used to attention. Fear brought her here.

"Yes." was all he answered, before moving to let her in and returning to his chair.

She was familiar to him. He felt his hand stroke the fur of Redbeard before the familiar main of the animal was suddenly replaced by an arm that grasped his. Fingers intertwining. He looked down only to see his hand on the armrest.

"Not yet, Sherlock."

He was confused by her. Why would he remember his dog at the time like this? The blond woman was still standing at the doorway.

"Sit."

He gestured at the chair, only to feel her warmth as he felt her sit on the armrest. Never was the one for rules. The woman.

The daughter of the business man sat on the chair in front. So he was right. There was a case here.

"I'm…"

He quickly interrupted.

"I know who you are."

He felt her nudge him.

"Manners Sherlock. She is special."

He frowned at Irene from the side before turning towards the client. It would appear his mind was already made and he was taking this case. Why was she special?

Timid gaze, awkward stance, slouched shoulders. Obviously not someone who would seek him out of any other reason but necessity. Glasses, not contacts. She doesn't want to stand out but rather choses to blend into her surroundings.

Only then does it occur to him - she hadn't said a word yet.

"Come now Sherlock. Help the poor girl. You need it."

Why does he need it? Oh yes, the business man. There was something wrong with him. What was it again?

His mind lost again.

"Yes yes. Trouble with your father I'd assume. He is not who you thought he was."

She seemed startled before looking back at him. Familiar, so familiar. He heard a bark somewhere and a child laughing on the street. Redbeard?

"No Sherlock. Not yet."

He was confused, what could it be? Irene was always up to no good. Even in his head.

"Ah how did you know that Mr. Holmes?"

He glanced at the woman before him. The name escaped him. Not relevant. Ah yes the father. He's a killer. Bad man.

"It was obvious really. No need to bore you with it. Now let's take a walk."

"What?"

She seemed startled. Again a familiar gesture in the way she followed him with her gaze. Knowingly he would describe it. But why? He doesn't know her. Never met her until today.

"Out, fresh air helps me think. Also I'm hungry and you could use some nutrients too judging by the paleness and dark circles under your eyes. Worry kept you up…"

She felt intrigued and insulted that he didn't remember her name.

"I'm…"

"Not important, food, walk now."

With that they were out. Crisp air hitting his face, making him take a deep breath. Clear night.

"You sure know how to romance a girl."

He glanced to his right and saw Irene lean into him with an amused smile.

"Get away."

"But you said…"

He turned to the other woman walking beside him. Smell of wet grass hit him for a second, weird as they were in the city. He scoffed at Irene as she just shrugged her shoulders and walked on beside him.

He looked at his client.

"Not you, never mind."

"How did you know it was my father and not a boyfriend or a husband?"

He walked the street, clearly trying to ignore Irene as he tried to pay attention to the other woman. Name? Not important.

"You have a closed-off posture - a timid character, and you would've come with your husband here as a support if you had him. No ring on your finger so I don't think so. Also you are dressed to hide yourself - not someone who is comfortable with who they are and also sharing the burden with someone who is not familiar with you. Still it must be someone close to you, someone who's known you for a long time. So father was the best guess."

She nodded along, lack of usual awe at his skill he noted but decided not to mention it. Now was not the time to be petty.

"Now Sherlock, some of us love your ego."

He growled, apparently Irene had no intention of leaving him be.

"Leave me alone woman!"

The blond one started to respond but he stopped her raising his hand.

"Not you, never mind."

She was clearly weirded out by his behavior but let him have his moment.

"Eh yes it is my father. He told us, the companies chosen few that he wanted to kills someone and then promptly erased our memories of it. One name. I just can't remember it."

He came to a halt.

"Stop, one name."

She nodded.

"Yes of the person he wanted to kill. Could be anyone."

Weird, one name. People have two names. Sherlock Holmes. Winston Churchill. John Watson.

Irene Adler.

"Ah how sweet. You put me on the list. I am disappointed that I am not ahead of John though. He does know you longer so I'll forgive you."

He only glared at her. Nothing else seemed to work. He looked at the blonde and realized that she wasn't there.

"Look what you've done now."

Irene raised an eyebrow as someone tapped his shoulder. He looked to find the same woman he was searching for.

"Where did you disappear to?"

She looked startled but showed him the food she took from the nearby stand. Bought him a beverage too. Nice of her.

He took a drink and sat on the bench. She joined him after a moment.

"I was hungry, so I got the food you spoke of. Why were you worried?"

In that moment he only frowned and looked away. Childs laughter echoed not far away.

She smiled at him.

"Who would've thought that..?"

He glanced her way. There was genuine interest in her eyes.

"What? That I was worried? Anyone would be..."

She smiled at him. So familiar.

"That you are sweet." she finished.

He scoffed and heard an amused laugh next to him but not from the blonde.

"I could've told you that ages ago." Irene said.

He glared at her as she was leaned on the railing overlooking the city.

"See if I did this," she said, leaning dangerously low over the railing "-you would follow even though you know I'm in your head. You'd do it for anyone."

With that she leaned back and disappeared over the railing. Sherlock's body was moving on his own as he shouted towards her. When he leaned over the railing to look down she wasn't there.

"See I said you'd do it. For anyone in fact."

As she said that it clicked in his head. The father didn't want to kill someone specific. No, he wanted to kill anyone.

"That's it." he whispered.

Quickly he glanced towards the bench but the blonde woman was nowhere to be seen. His empty drink was the only thing on the cold wood of the bench. He sat there as he tried to gather his mind. Of course someone had other plans.

"If this wasn't about the case l, I'd say this was a rather romantic outing."

He really didn't need this.

"I wouldn't do this if you would respond like a normal person. You know the more you resist, the more I'll find a place in here."

She placed her finger over his heart.

"Don't be ridiculous Irene."

She whispered the next word next to his ear.

"Than prove me wrong Sherlock. I dare you."

A gasp escaped his lips and he felt his phone vibrate with a familiar tone. He glanced at the screen and read the familiar text. He didn't realize his lips have stretched into a smile.

Let's have dinner.

-/-

His head was knocked unceremoniously along the hard surface. He tried to gather his senses, and deduce where he was at the moment but the drugs made his mind sluggish.

Calverton Smith. The man behind the mask of money and power. The man behind anyone. What if you had all the power you needed to indulge and it would seem he did….what would you do?

The loud screeching threw him away from his place of resting and he bumped his head again on the surface next to him. The space was tiny he had to admit.

"Well if you weren't such an idiot, you wouldn't be in this position."

He felt her warmth next to him. How she fit in such a tiny place, you better not know. It was all in his head.

"Must you show you presence now of all times." he scuffed.

Recently he discovered that she was showing more frequently, no matter the drugs or pills he took. She was always there. It was supposed to mean something but he didn't want to think about it.

Her scent familiar to him now as he breathed in. His brain could be really thorough. He hated it at the time. He didn't need the temptation.

"Well I have to, because you skipped dinner again. Not very gallant of you. What would Faith say to that?"

He drew a blank.

"Faith?"

"The blond girl from before. The client," she explained, the annoyance obvious in her voice. He would've thought her jealous if she wasn't a figment that is.

"Like I care what she thinks. Really can't you puff away or something?"

He felt her breath on his face and knew that if it was better lit she would be a hair away from him.

"Well you can move if you want. I don't mind Sherlock, in fact…"

She left it hanging in the air, but he couldn't do it. Somehow being closer to her even as just his imagination he didn't trust himself. Didn't trust himself to behave.

"Hm naughty Sherlock. Didn't think you had it in you. We really should've had dinner."

Another rattle startled him and he was jolted towards the front, towards… her and his head once more met hard surface. Screeching halt.

The woman could really learn to drive better. There were regulations damn it! A couple of footsteps could be heard and then a bright light.

Annoyed face of Mrs. Hudson and bewildered John were staring at him. Right, she took him hostage. Opiates or something. He was high, can't remember well, except dinner. Eh what… no. Right, he planned this. The case.

John looked worn down, probably lack of sleep. Guilt and sadness on his mind.

"Not too far from you Sherlock."

She was leaning against the bumper as he scrambled outside. The ringing of his phone reminded him he had business. Still he glared at her.

"Stop hounding me!"

Mrs. Hudson looked alarmed and worried as did John even though he tried not to look as affected. Good man.

"What are you talking about Sherlock?"

He could see the policeman coming towards them and he answered his phone and gave it to Mrs. Hudson without looking at it.

"The queen of England is what I'm talking about."

He heard her laugh behind him but ignored it for the moment. From the distance he could hear Mrs. Hudson greeting the person on the phone.

"Hello Mycroft…"

Queen of England indeed. He tuned her out as he looked at John and what appeared to be the therapist. He guessed well. Someone new he didn't know, a woman. All right, he had a nagging feeling he was missing something as he looked at her. Mundane, familiar again.

"John, I'm sure you're all healed up. Therapy worked, now it is time we go back to work. New case, big one."

John looked baffled, even annoyed and angered a bit. Could be worse, he expected worse.

"How did you know I'd be here?" John asked finally.

He didn't have time for this.

"Really predictable John, no time to explain. Chop chop."

"Sherlock!"

"What?" he swiftly turned to see Irene and Mrs. Hudson with disapproving looks on their faces. Oh right, like they didn't know this was how it would go.

"You can't just come in here and barge in my life. The game is on, well my wife bloody died because of you and suddenly you think that after some time passes it is okay for you to demand that of me?"

He felt her hand on his shoulder and it calmed him a bit. She gave him an encouraging look.

"Come on Sherlock. Tell him, he wasn't the only one who lost something."

He didn't dare to look at her anymore so he focused on John, who looked defeated for the lack of a better word. He needed a purpose and he will give it to him.

"You chose her John. You knew what kind of a woman she was. One that was fierce and loyal and crazy enough to call me her friend. She made us both better and when you lost her I also lost the only friend I ever had besides you."

A bark once more pierced his ears and he glanced around to find the animal.

"Not now Sherlock. Focus on John."

Her voice snapped him back. John looked as tired as he felt.

"In her eyes I was someone worth saving and for the last couple of months I have tried to gather myself enough not to feel the weight of it every damn waking moment."

John looked sheepish and Sherlock realized how hampered and warn down he must look to his friend.

"Trying to. I didn't say I succeeded."

John tore his gaze from him. Glancing next to him, as if he saw something he didn't. Interesting... Not the time.

"Yes, I can see that."

He finally looked at him, but not before a small nod passed between him and whatever his mind was processing as he kept glancing next to him.

"Sure, he's the weird one."

He glanced over his shoulder and Irene was laughing as she saw the policeman apologize to Mrs. Hudson, her hair cascading over her shoulders. She never looked more feminine to him.

He was looking at John for a moment and as he realized he won't be able to say the words that weight heavily on him he looked away. His eyes locked with hers.

"By saving my life Mary placed a value on it. It is a currency I do not know how to spend."

Her eyes were knowing and she nodded towards John, so he looked at his friend to see those walls crumbling.

"I need to do something good with my life John and this is the only thing I'm good at."

John nodded in afterthought.

"You bloody well know how to choose them."

Again he glanced over his shoulder but Sherlock pressed on.

"To keep me honest... I need you with me John."

He extended his hand towards him as he heard another car pull up. It was time. After a moment John still didn't shake his hand but moved next to him looking at the car that arrived.

"What's with the limousine?"

Sherlock walked towards it.

"That is our next case John. The game is on."

"Well it bloody hell had to be, didn't it? I am not predictable Sherlock. Maybe to your genius brain, but not to normal people."

He went inside before Sherlock.

"There better be alcohol here. I didn't even finish my session."

He opened the door on the other side and was about to walk in when he felt her move before him.

"Why thank you Sherlock. Such a gentleman."

He scoffed and moved inside. John was already pouring something from the small stock of beverages on the side.

He felt her foot trace along his.

"When we have dinner I expect you to be anything but."

A suggestive smile on her face had him dry swallow.

"John could you pour me a drink?" he asked quickly.

John looked amused as he said, "No, you're on the job."

Damn it.

-/-

The ride was uneventful, with John focused on learning more about their suspect. He said nothing was confirmed and not to rush to judgment. Sherlock knew better of course.

The culprit was an ego driven individual, with a need to show off his genius and play a game of cat and mouse with his audience. Just because he can.

"Remind you of someone?"

He glared at her. Please, like he was the only one. Pot meet kettle. She only laughed it off. Right in his head. Glancing towards John he noticed he wasn't the only one in his head.

"So you got an invite from a man you've been harassing for weeks now. Doesn't make any sense."

Oh poor John, still unable to see the bigger picture.

"Well he is rich and powerful. He knows it and is well aware of the fact. Mr. Smith will use any means necessary to indulge his vice and if possible make a name for himself as a killer who eluded Sherlock Holmes."

"Or maybe you had one too many of your vices and are not thinking straight. What made me think this would make sense is beyond me."

He glance at the seat in front of him, a concerned frown on his face. John seemed to be hiding something. Perhaps the hurt didn't heal, or maybe he was imagining things (again).

"Like you hardly ever make sense Sherlock." he added as an afterthought almost.

He would be hurt if it wasn't plain as day that John was still not well. Still struggling.

"Can you tell me where we are going at least?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Don't know, he invited me. Didn't bother to look where."

John laughed at the incredulity of it all. It does seem rather rash, even by his standard, but John doesn't see it yet.

"Neither do you Sherlock." her voice echoed in the small space. Well we will just have to see about that.

John interrupted his musings.

"Sure sure. Being driven away to an unknown location, towards a supposed serial killer. Yes what could possibility go wrong? Hm Sherlock, I wonder."

His breath was coming in short bursts, agitated and maybe even a little interested in what might follow. Still a soldier, he noticed.

"Everything John. Isn't it exciting?"

"I wouldn't put it like that." He heard John mutter but he paid him no mind. His eyes were on hers.

"How far are you going to take this Sherlock?"

Her eyes questioned, a worry creased her brow.

"As far as it takes."

That concern didn't vane from her face, but a sigh followed. She was worried, which meant he was worried. He hated bloody figments. Their purpose was never clear to him.

"What did you say?"

He turned to John before a window started to open and the man himself showed his face.

Culverton Smith.

The dye was cast.

-/-

In his line of work Sherlock has met all sorts of different people, the sad, funny, pathetic, curious, pleading, and scary but none were as revolting as those people whose mare presence made you unsettled, made those warning bells alert in your head. Culverton Smith was one of them in Sherlock's book.

His walk, the slight arch of his back, the creepy half smile were enough on their own and then when he started to speak it took all Sherlock's will power not to retort (and that wouldn't be very good as he had a mission to follow) so he did letting Mr. Smith lead them inside his establishment. First, he made a show of some nonsense about cereal. The man was a wolf in disguise but that just wasn't his finest moment.

A lot of showing off, look how grand I am followed and who could forget, being menacing in front of a bunch of toodlers. Please, Mrs. Hudson had more grasp on timing than this man ever could.

John was near silent from the moment they left the car, seemingly unsettled by the entire charade. How much of it did he believe he wasn't sure.

So when they were led through another private part of this rather empty establishment for such a "known" figure Sherlock was at the end of his very limited patience.

Then the daughter arrived at the morgue and caused red flags in his mind which meant not hearing Irene laugh at the man's obvious parading about.

"Well doesn't she look put together, little miss I-don't-have-anything-left-and-my-father-has-driven-me-to-the-brink-of-sanity, please help me oh wise and noble Mr. Holmes."

Okay so maybe the sarcasm was still there, but as he continued to examine Mrs Smith's image, it just didn't match with what he saw from before.

Still, he needed to press forward even as he heard water rushing in his ears. It was almsot like he was submerged, all his senses dulled when he looked at her. His consciousness seemed to agree.

"Well isn't this looking like a twist in an old let's make Sherlock look insane book. Refined by Moriarty to the T if I recall."

And he most certainly did recall, how far he had to fall... Will it go that far this time? The woman shared a concerned look with him, as he noticed the others looking at him like he was losing it. He looked away at his hands only to see a scalpel firmly grasped between his fingers.

John looked lost by what was happening and so did he. Culverton seemed afraid, but he noticed the eyes of a snake when he saw them. He would not be fooled by him, even if everyone here seemed to be.

"What are you ranting about Sherlock… sloppy I might add." she said while leaning on the overly stylized surgical table.

He stumbled backwards and tried to focus on reality. Was he relapsing? A duh expression on Irene's face all but confirmed it. Shouldn't it happen much earlier? Miscalculation? Oh might as well work with it. A sudden clap brought him to present.

Her palms were pressed together before her hand went and indicated to her ear.

"Listen Sherlock."

He could feel the movement of his lips, the formation of the words and the rushing of water stopped and he could suddenly hear what he was saying.

"You are the wolf in sheep clothes Mr. Smith. Hiding behind your image and necessity to the society all the while holding secret conferences between your trusted and loyal subjects. The need to show off to everyone…anyone."

John looked on edge but Faith looked confused while Culverton only regarded him with practiced indifference.

"Having an unregulated access to buildings such as this. Showing me your favorite room. The morgue. Convenient I have to say. The threats and tendencies are there if you look close enough."

The daughter looked absolutely lost in it all, John even seemed timid by his revelation. Was he wrong? Really?

"No Sherlock." he heard her say.

"Here is where you can get to your victims and have a place to dispose of them. Leaving no one the wiser."

He pressed on. The other looked at him like he was mad.

"That is until your daughter managed to remember something, anything or anyone in this case. Leaving me just enough bread crumbs to come knocking on your door."

The man only shrugged innocently.

"I got to say as a fan Mr. Holmes I love how your mind works, but really enough with the theatrics, there are no kids to impress now."

The man was spinning a story again.

"Cunning bastard," he heard Irene say but he shook his head as he finally noticed a subtle movement from him. The scalpel was gone. Did he take it?

"You might say so but your daughter will tell the truth. Won't you Faith?"

The daughter seemed lost, frightened. Nothing like the image from before.

The east wind is coming Sherlock…

His brother's voice mocked him.

He finally noticed John step forward.

"Okay Sherlock that's enough. You said your peace." John tried to sound unaffected but he could hear the tension in his voice.

He pointed a finger at Culverton as he was certain he had a scalpel on him.

"You're the killer here! I know it! You even took the scalpel from the table. You plan to attack us here?"

The water started to rush in his ears again. The feeling of sickness overcoming his senses. They all looked at him like he was insane.

John was now in his vision, holding both of his hands up.

"Come on Sherlock. Calm down, we can find another way."

What is he talking about, Culverton is the one who aims to harm them!

Finally a feminine hand wrapped itself around his outstretched one. Her forehead resting on his shoulder.

"That's enough Sherlock."

His mind cleared and he felt the cold metal in his hand. What he thought was a finger pointing at the culprit was actually the cold blade of a scalpel.

"Shh it's enough…" she kept whispering next to his ear. As he glanced at her he was suddenly struck by a force. In the next moment he was on the floor.

John finally took the opportunity of his distraction and attacked him. Good. He knew he could count on him. But there was a loud voice booming over him and the beating didn't stop.

Finally he recognized John ranting in rage.

"You always do this. Make grand gestures of how you will do the right thing…"

Kick, ribs cracked. A groan of pain escaped him.

"When will it be enough, huh?"

Another kick.

"When Sherlock?"

Another one. Superficial bleeding.

"When you finally become a killer? You killed Mary. Isn't that enough?"

Another one. Finally someone pulled him away. His mind fogged and mouth tasted metal - he was losing consciousness quickly.

"He's hurting Sherlock." he heard her voice.

The irony of Mr. Smith stopping John wasn't lost on him, but he deserved it. John was right. The value was wasted on him. What was Mary thinking?

"It's okay. He is entitled to it."

He looked up to finally see the gaping hole of loss in John's eyes.

"I killed his wife."

The hurt was there and he couldn't breathe but it had nothing to do with the broken ribs and all to do with that lump in his throat that kept on suffocating him. John looked defeated and exhausted by it all. Still he felt like he was the one who hurt less at that moment.

"Yes you did."

And he didn't know what to do. It was all wasted.

-/-

When he came to he was in a hospital bed. Fancy looking room greeted him, devoid of any personality. Sterile and clean.

His body felt numb and he knew better than to make sudden movement. John was there he knew - the cane was left on the small chair next to the bed.

John wasn't here now though. It could only mean that things weren't looking up. Things won't be magically fixed. Nothing in life ever was.

"Again in a hospital bed Sherlock. Making it a habit I see."

He was never truly alone these days. She was there and it made him feel on edge. He was angry at a bloody figment of his own imagination.

He tried to gather his thoughts, say something, but he was still all but out of it. He was drugged - someone did it. In medical capacity or otherwise, he wasn't sure.

"Why are you still here?"

She sat on the chair and he was struck by how stunning she looked. It's odd for him, still new to notice these things. More than that, to admit that he noticed these things. At least when it came to her.

"You mean here with you as an element of your psyche? You believe by now the hallucinations should've stopped."

He could only slightly nod. His body was still numb and he felt so detached from his physical form that it felt natural to just waste minutes with her. Waste it all away…

"Maybe there is something more for you to discover, to understand. Almost admitting to yourself that you find me pretty is flattering but not really important. Not when it comes to us."

His head was swimming making him hard to concentrate on the words she was saying, but he was stubborn.

"There is no us."

Another groan escaped him. He felt her hand on his and somehow it calmed him.

"It's all in your head. Get a grip." he muttered, hoping to get the edge.

"Maybe there should be Sherlock."

Not this again.

"So answer her." as she said it the familiar ringtone played on his phone. He glanced at her and then at it, but couldn't make himself reach for it. He stared at the lit up screen not really seeing anything except for the soft glow.

"Maybe that's why I'm still here. Until the real thing is acknowledged."

He really hated his mind sometimes. Today more than ever. Still he glanced at the familiar cane just behind her. Good, things were going according to plan.

"Are they Sherlock? Are you certain?"

He didn't need her worry. Nor did he need Mary and her friendship, her belief that he was worth something. Anything than what everyone else seemed to see him as.

He felt the guilt once again. The despair and loss on John's face. It was his fault and he couldn't fix it. Only push his friend to get better, not for him but for his daughter and the little family he had now.

Go to hell Sherlock.

"I will… I am." he said into the empty room. The devil will come.

As he heard the wall being opened like some secret door he knew the time had come. The devil was at his doorstep.

Culverton Smith.

"Surprised Mr. Holmes?"

He glanced at the gleeful eyes of a killer and shrugged as best as he could.

"Not really."

He smiled, showing the creepy line of a smile that felt nothing. Man behind an empty face. He felt nothing for this world, his family or the people he killed. He did it to feel something, be guessed. Liked being the one to control that moment when the light leaves their eyes.

The gloves were in his hand and he was leaning over him.

"Well you are about to be. Ready to say goodbye Mr. Holmes?"

The smile was still there.

"I so looked forward to this moment."

-/-

Not many times did he feel so out of control. Damn it, if this wasn't the most inopportune time to be in this situation but he never did get things right.

Save John.

It still haunts him. Can't make himself erase the broken face of his friend as he cradled his dead wife in his arms or the blame he clearly saw in his gaze every day since, now all he tried is to cover it up. Mend it. At the core of it they are not getting past this. Not so easily. Mary meant a lot to him, let alone John.

He had to face the devil to make any progress at all.

"Well the sodding man is in front of you is he not Sherlock? Focus on what we came to do here."

Once more she pulled him back. Really, he was doubting his sanity these days more often than usual. Looking at the man he had to try and make it work. Make him talk. Make him admit.

"Yes you enjoy this moment, but you don't like the struggle, do you? You want the victim to submit. Accept their miserable fate. Accept your salvation."

The only reply he got from Mr. Smith was an amused smile. Like a true serial killer, he wanted to talk about his work. His art.

"Murder is a very difficult addiction to manage. People don't realize how much work goes into it. You have to be careful. But if you're rich or famous and...loved, it's amazing what people are prepared to ignore. But there's always someone desperate about to go missing, and no-one wants to suspect murder if it's easier to suspect something else. I just have to ration myself, choose the right heart to stop."

His mouth felt dry but not as numb as before. His senses were returning. He was gaining control. Maybe just in time.

"Still how many victims were there exactly? How do you make it work? As you obviously made me incapable of fighting back."

He looked at the IV drip before leaning over Sherlock, his eyes betraying joy that shouldn't be there. That made Sherlock realize that this man would never truly stop.

"Just like you… isn't that right Sherlock?"

Her voice penetrated the fog in his mind again. In his mind he saw his best friend again and again trying to make him stop, but going along with it. Just for Sherlock to get that fix. Just another junky. Destroying everyone around him.

"I don't want this…"

His chest hurt, his heart felt like it was squeezed by a vice grip. The breathing was shallow. Almost like he was having a panic attack.

"Yes Mr. Holmes, as much as I am a fan of your work, even I saw how toxic you are to those around you. Crying wolf as I already know your friend alerted the inspector to arrive here. To do what hm? Arrest me?"

He sat back on the chair before gleefully standing back up and hovering over him.

"I don't think so. I dictate this game."

A madman was all that greeted him. One he could see himself becoming someday. He can't control this.

The list Sherlock. Where is it?

A headache followed making his eyes mist with tears. Damn it he really will end up like them. All those people he felt were too weak to see the bigger picture.

"Don't do this Sherlock. Snap out of it." she said, but all he could hear was the rumbling sound, like water muting her words. His hands griped the sheet only to feel soft fur under his hands. John should've known better, damn it. He should've known he would disappoint him somewhere down the line. He wanted it all to stop. To end.

"I want it all to end…"

He felt her hand, but it was like she was so far away. Barely there.

"No Sherlock."

The snake was before him. Waiting to swallow him whole or feed him the poison.

Suddenly another hand was on his shoulder. A firm grip.

"I see you are tired Mr. Holmes. You want it all to end don't you? Like the others before you."

He saw the man, the snake hover still above him. A hand that was meant to offer comfort felt like a chain around him. Dead weight. Still he nodded in return.

"If you think that I admitting to killing people will be recorded on your phone I have to disappoint you. You see I already turned it off as I took the phone from your pocket. Only a message is there, nothing else. Nobody wants you around Mr. Holmes."

His hand went over his nose, starting to cover it and close the airways.

"I am more than happy to oblige. Show me the fear as you realize that you are going to die. Show it to me."

Before he started to squeeze the life out of him, Sherlock managed to say.

"What did the message say?"

That surprised the snake, as it looked full of expectations towards him. The grip didn't let up.

"I said I want to die. Take it as a last request."

He looked like he was contemplating for a moment before he sighed and turned towards the phone.

"I should've just poisoned you and cremated the remains, but it is rare that I get a willing participant."

He took the phone and read it with a light chuckle.

"How poetic…"

He turned the screen towards Sherlock and in the dim light he read, "Goodbye Mr. Holmes."

His eyes snapped at it in alert. He even glanced around the room like he expected to see her, but she was nowhere to be found. Water kept rushing…

"Enough of this. Time to end this game."

In seconds he was on him squeezing the life out of him. Sherlock tried to resist but felt no strength in him. Maybe it was better this way.

"Sherlock!"

He opened his eyes to see her next to him. His bed was the only thing there. Was he dead? That was fast.

"Mary?"

She watched him with pity and that ever present understanding.

"Hm never one to do things half way, eh Sherlock?"

He was hallucinating again. That had to be it.

"No I never wanted this."

She still looked like she knew something he didn't. As much as he didn't want to admit it she did it often when she was alive and rightfully so.

"Didn't you? Wasn't it all too much for you? The emotions and burdens you just couldn't handle. Couldn't handle the truth?"

He felt like he was missing something. He heard soft footsteps and when he looked next to his bed a very familiar dog was sitting there.

"Redbeard."

Her hand snapped him back to her as light started to dim suddenly.

"Now is not the time for the past Sherlock. I told you to help John. This is not helping."

He shrugged, tired and drained with it all.

"Didn't know any other way."

She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry Sherlock. He will come."

The light dimmed again, and began to flicker.

"You shouldn't be here in the first place, but I am glad I saw you. To say proper goodbye."

He snorted, the old wall coming back up.

"You're just a product of chemicals in my head. The women I know tend to do that."

She laughed at him.

"That may be true but I am still glad I got to talk to you. The other one you will have to face in the real world I'm afraid."

He glared at his feet.

"Maybe it is better I stay here."

The light suddenly turned blindingly bright before dimming once more.

"No Sherlock. There is so much for you to do and it wouldn't be right to leave the ones who care about you behind."

His head started to hurt. His heart felt that vice once more.

"What is there still to do? Mary?"

Her face was blurry when he looked up. Fear gripped him.

"You will just have to see Sherlock. Take care of John, please. For me."

As the light once more turned bright and his eyes started to hurt so much that he had to close them, he heard her say, "I'll be watching…"

As she faded from his view he found it hard to breathe. He tried to gasp for air but just couldn't find it.

"Come on Sherlock. Don't do this…" he heard someone say as he tried to turn his head towards the voice but his body just wouldn't respond.

East wind Sherlock…

Oh what have you done…

This is all your fault…

He couldn't understand anything anymore.

"Come on, damn it!"

He felt an aching pain on his chest like his heart was about to burst.

It's not real Sherlock. I was just playing the game. ... And this is just losing…

The sudden noise snapped him back into reality. It was everywhere. The pain was everywhere. He gasped for air and his lungs tried to compensate for it. Everything hurt.

"Oh thank God."

Faces came to focus. Inspector Lesrade was on one side holding Mr. Smith and John was hovering over him. The relief was palpable on his face.

"You don't understand, I was just trying to help him inspector."

No he will not let the man walk away from this.

"No he is the killer." he managed to gasp out. John looked like he was back in his soldier mode, ready to see the bad person pay. Good.

Mr. Smith only looked like he was having an anxiety attack.

"It's just your crazy accusations. I tried to help you, but now I will destroy you. My lawyers will see to it."

His eyes returned to John and he pointed at his cane.

"Not quite, because that is not an ordinary cane, is it John?"

His friend looked surprised, before realization struck.

"You didn't…"

He opened the cane to reveal a bug.

"Of course you did."

Sarcasm and relief were mixed as he laughed towards the inspector.

"Well it would appear your lawyers will be too busy trying to save your own ass."

With that Greg pushed the man out, but not before giving a nod towards Sherlock. Oh yes the listening bug was from Lestrade. The man knew when to bend the rules.

John was already checking if he was really okay, but Sherlock waved him away.

"Just get me out of here."

John smiled in return.

"Back to the Baker Street."

He nodded in return. Before he felt a punch on his shoulder.

"That was for bugging my cane."

"I may have deserved that."

With that they shared a laugh. Things were looking up it would seem.

-/-

The familiar place greeted him. Smell of leather and worn paper. He took a deep breath. It was good to be home.

John helped him to the chair and the way his body still felt sore from the entire ordeal that happened he appreciated it. The simple help from a friend.

John stood for a minute awkwardly glancing next to him, which only once more reassured him in the belief that John was still dealing with his own loss.

"Oh for God sake, will you just talk to the man."

He glanced in front of him as he took a seep from his tea. She was back. Sitting in the chair opposite of him. It made him long for something. What, he wasn't sure.

Never mind that, John looked weary and tired, his shirt wrinkled, his posture haggard. Which meant that as friendly as he appeared, there were still things they needed to talk about.

"Well, hope you are comfortable. Mrs. Hudson will check on you from time to time. Don't irritate the poor woman Sherlock."

John was wrapping up his little stay and preparing to leave. He glanced to the wall next to Sherlock which only made him look towards the chair where Irene was still sitting. Her hand impatiently tapping on the armchair as the other gestured at John, who was preparing to leave.

"You know those tapes won't hold him in prison…"

With that he took a sip of his tea. It wasn't the best tea in his mind, too bitter. Irene only raised an eyebrow, preparing to once more emotionally push him into an unknown direction.

"Do better Sherlock."

He felt an odd echo, like he could hear Mary. He was really beginning to lose his mind.

"Yes they are inadmissible at court but it won't matter because according to Lestrade the man can't stop confessing. "

John nodded and still was unable to look him in the eye.

"God you two… I think I would find it easier to be best friends with Moriarty than for you two having a normal conversation."

Well that was just rude from her. He was trying his best here.

"Weird thing about the daughter. I was so sure she was here. Maybe the drugs really did elevate my mental capacity to a new level… Interesting."

John seemed exasperated by him or with whatever was bugging him.

"Yes well you always did believe in a higher force. Yourself as usual."

Maybe, but even he can admit that something wasn't adding up. How much of it was real? He may even have to talk to Mycroft about this. An involuntary shudder passed through him.

No need to open that door.

The east wind is coming.

Now it was back in his head. The dreaded voice of his brother. He glanced at the smiley face on the wall and saw the colors melt into a distorted face, but when he blinked it was back to normal. Irene looked worried. Wired that his consciousness fears for him.

He finally noticed John almost at the exit.

"Time for me to go see my daughter."

There was an awkward pause after it and in the next moment he continued.

"I'll see you on the next case."

It all felt very formal. Polite. He hated it.

"Yes, see you John."

He returned to drinking his tea, but somehow couldn't swallow it down. He felt like he was suffocating. He glanced at her and she had a look of anger on her face. She hit the arm chair with her hands at the same time the familiar tune was played on his phone. He glanced at John hoping that the man didn't hear anything.

"What was that?"

So much for hoping. Irene looked smug from her side and he almost told her off, but than he would need to explain that and he just didn't have the brain power to do it at the moment.

"What was what?"

John took a suspicious step towards him. Glancing to his left and than back at him. He almost felt like he was being interrogated. Under the magnifying glass.

"That is the sound for The Woman. Wasn't she supposed…"

He didn't finish the sentence as the truth slowly started to dawn on him. Still he glanced next to Sherlock. Then it became clear to him.

He could almost see her. Mary.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He almost cringed at how weak that was. John will see right through it.

"Hm how about I do some deduction."

He stood in front of him. He could see Irene peak her head next to him.

"Oh Sherlock he's got you now."

He glared at her, but focused on John.

"Do your worst."

John moved for a moment and than his eye lit up with a theory. Did he look this ridiculous when he deduced? He hoped not.

"Happy birthday."

He snapped in surprise towards his friend.

"All this time, I didn't know... Well aren't you going to text her back?"

This was what he was afraid of.

"No."

John looked like he was going to have a heart attack. Never knew he cared so much.

"Why the bloody hell not?"

He threw his hands in exasperation while he ranted.

"Sure she is a dominatrix, dangerous and quite possibility insane but the woman likes you and she is alive. You don't know how lucky you are."

The sorrow was there, clear on his face and Sherlock himself could see it. Time slipping away with every step.

"She is probably a sociopath but when you do things, you don't do them half way do you? But by God if you don't text her back I will take that phone and call her myself."

He glared again at him. Oddly Irene wasn't there. In his head that is.

"No John."

The man looked like he wanted to throttle him.

"Don't you see? The burden I have to carry John. What Mary did when she saved me…?"

John only stared perplexed at him. Good time to shake him into reality.

"I need to do good John. Find a way to repay this value she had placed on my life. I have no time for anything else. Whatever it takes to make it worth it…"

He released a breath.

"That I was worth it."

John was still in the same state of confusion, before just saying to him, "You're an idiot."

Sherlock glanced at him, lost on whatever John was trying to tell him.

"She saw what you could be, the person you were in her eyes. Damn it Sherlock…"

He slumped in the opposite chair.

"You know… I cheated on her."

Sherlock glanced up in surprise. He knew one thing about John and that was that he was an honorable man.

"John, you didn't…"

His friend glanced next to him again. His eyes conveying the guilt and shame but also a resolution.

"No, I got a number from a woman and had spent weeks texting her. I broke it off the day before she died. While she was raising our daughter… I acted like an idiot. Wanted the rush…"

Sherlock didn't know what to say. Never was one to understand emotional turmoil, but he wanted to help his friend. Still John looked like he wanted to finish his thought so he let him.

"Then she would look at me and in her eyes reflected the person she wanted to see. The person I wanted to be and I will spend my life trying to be that. Scrape on my hands and knees if I have to."

A small smile on John's face was enough to tell him that he was finally healing. Maybe it was time he did the same.

"She texts me from time to time and I try not to respond, but sometime… you know. Can't help myself."

John looked surprised at his revelation, but Sherlock felt lighter. Like he was finally on the right track himself.

"Yes, underneath it all we can do is try to do the right thing and hope for the best."

John nodded in return.

"That is a fundamentally human thing you just did Sherlock."

He smiled at his friend. It will work out. He knew he had his friend back.

"Aren't we all John?"

John glanced again next to him as a serene smile played on his face.

With that a rush of footsteps and a familiar figure appeared.

"Got a weird one for you Sherlock."

The expectant face of Lestrade was there and the rush of unfamiliar came. The game was on.

The inspector looked a bit timid at Sherlock's appearance.

"You good to go. I can…"

Sherlock was already on his feet. Searching around with his eyes his gaze fell on the object.

"No need. Time for me to make you look good Greg."

The man looked at him surprised and he could see him looking at John mouthing if he was really okay. John nodded.

"Good, good. I'll wait for you with the car."

He went out. John looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Things were moving back to normal.

"You really okay…"

He glared at him and placed the hat on his head. John looked quickly next to him, a small smile playing on his face.

"You don't need to wear…"

He smiled at his friend. There was really no need for him to say that. Didn't he know that Sherlock already knew what he thought?

"I'm Sherlock Holmes. I wear the damned hat."

He saw his friend almost immediately right himself up, like the burden was gone from his shoulders and as he strode past him, he couldn't help but say,

"Isn't that right Mary?"

He could almost see John's dumbfounded face, but he didn't want to stop. John needed to say goodbye to Mary. He already did.

The rush of mystery was getting to him. The adrenaline that pumped because of the unknown. Once more the familiar tune played in his pocket. Right, the woman.

He took the phone out, surprised that there were two messages.

Happy Birthday Mr. Holmes

A feeling of unease filled him as he opened the front door and a face he didn't expect stood in front of him. He read the other message.

I'm here…

As much as he told himself that it was all in his head he looked at the familiar figure in front of him.

"We have a situation, dear brother."

He locked eyes with Mycroft and saw what he didn't in a while, if ever – fear.

"Mycroft?"

The elder looked grim.

The east wind is coming Sherlock...

The rain began to pour but none of them noticed.

It's coming to get you.

-/-


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Well I hope you all enjoyed this one. As for Sherlock fics, I let them rest with this one until inspiration strikes, when that will be I do not know. For now, I have said what I wanted to say. Thanks for everyone who gave it a shot, read and commented. I appreciate all the support. If you have questions feel free to ask. Here's the last one...

**Part III**

The light was beginning to fade slowly as the day gave way to the night. Mycroft looked as presentable as ever, but Sherlock could read him beyond the appearance.

"Can we talk?" he asked and before he could form a reply he heard the familiar footsteps of his best friend as he came down to join them.

"Sherlock?" John asked, but Sherlock couldn't pay attention to him. His brother was staring down the fog gripped street, unwilling to meet his eyes. This was serious.

"John why don't you go with the inspector? I'll meet you there."

Somehow even as he said that, he knew it was a lie.

"Are you sure?"

Mycroft finally looked at John, still avoiding Sherlock. Very serious indeed.

"So sorry Mr. Watson, but this is a family matter."

John seemed intrigued by his words but Sherlock decided to stop this charade.

"Listen John how about we leave this case to the police. I'm sure they can handle it. Tell Greg I said that."

John looked reluctant but finally nodded in agreement.

"Fine, I have to go see my therapist anyway. After the week I had, she will think I'm a different person. Mycroft…"

John nodded at the man.

"Dr. Watson…"

With that his friend was gone and whatever light was left outside was suddenly looking even more dimmed.

"Tea?" he asked stupidly but it was the first thing that came to him and Mycroft seemed to need the distraction. He never did see his brother so rattled.

"Please."

They stepped inside the Speedy's café, Sherlock being of the mind that there was no need for Mrs. Hudson to accidentally hear something she wasn't supposed to. Clearly this one was going to be as big of a secret as any Mycroft seemed to hold.

You never know with the man. The waiter brought them two steaming cups and the cold dissipated from his body for a moment.

"I hear congratulations are in order…"

Did he really need to be aloof, as if he already didn't know every step Sherlock made? If he wasn't family it would be creepy. Actually it was still creepy. But Sherlock understood the need to know and to control.

"Yes, another serial killer down for the count."

Mycroft only glanced at his tea, looking like he was about to drink poison rather than a simple cup of tea. High maintenance, his brother.

"You took unnecessarily risks this time Sherlock. To get Dr. Watson back on board I presume."

It may sound like a question but there was no mistaking that he already knew everything.

"Did you stop me from another case just so you can condemn my actions once more? Being the smart one."

Mycroft looked distant, like he was hardly paying any attention.

"Yes condemn. It is funny how the world always comes back to collect."

He scoffed at Mycroft - really, this coming from him.

"Since when do you believe in probabilities and hokum?"

Mycroft glanced through the window. Nothing but a few cars in a poorly lit street.

"Extraordinary circumstances, brother dear."

He heard the rain start to drip down the window before the rushing sound of the beer being poured snapped his attention back to the bar. He focused on Mycroft only to notice the dark circles and tired form that usually never revealed more than he needed to.

"Have you been sleeping Mycroft?"

The question sounded sarcastic to an untrained ear but they both knew it was anything but.

"Sleep eludes me these days. There's more important things at work."

Ah yes, now would be the time to press for that information.

"So are we going to sit here pretending we are drinking tea or are you going to tell me why are you really here?"

He felt a sudden chill – judging by his brothers posture whatever he was about to tell him was something that he wouldn't want to hear. Sherlock Holmes not wanting to know the truth? He could really use some help, when it came to the state of his mind today.

Where is she anyways?

_I'm here…_

In that moment his eyes fell on his phone that was back in his hand, the text bright against the night's lights. Suddenly he felt the adrenaline, one might even say fear, but Sherlock Holmes was never afraid.

"Is this about her?"

Mycroft looked surprised than he glanced at Sherlock holding his phone and waved in dismissal.

"No this has nothing to do with your affair with The Woman." he dismissed. The way he said it - like he had known the whole time.

"I track your every move brother, what did you think?"

Sherlock exhaled. He wasn't worried. Not really. She was okay, but than again… He glanced at the message again. He could hear the wind starting to pick up with the rain.

"It's not what you think Mycroft."

His brother put his hand on the table causing the tea cups to rattle from the impact.

"I don't care if you and Irene Adler have declared your undying love for each other. This is about family, not about where you spend your free time."

He was bewildered at the emotion he saw on Mycroft's face, usually a reserved man on his best day.

"Than what Mycroft? I don't have time for games."

This was growing tiresome. Sherlock felt irritated by the unknown factor and seeing his brother rattled affected him as much as he would like to claim otherwise.

He felt like they spend another half an hour just staring, trying to win some sort of internal debate.

"It's about Sherrinford."

The moment he said it, Sherlock's phone rang. He glanced at the screen only to reveal that it was a message from John. He glanced at Mycroft as if debating what to do.

"For Christ sake Sherlock now is not the time…"

But as he said that Sherlock already opened a message and froze. Mycroft guessed what it was about.

"It's her isn't it?"

Sherlock didn't know what it was but all he could hear was that damned wind and dogs barking somewhere down the street. Somehow he knew as he stared at the picture of John seemingly unconscious and a gun pointed from the camera perspective that this will change everything he had known.

"What Sherlock, stop being dramatic."

He turned the picture towards his brother. The message was simple.

_Come get your Redbeard Sherlock._

Mycroft said what he wanted to say the entire time, but somehow it was too late.

"Eurus…"

Nothing but the wind was heard afterwards.

_The east wind is coming._

No, it was already here.

-/-

It didn't take long for them to conclude where John was being held. Sherlock remembered him saying that he was going to visit his therapist.

The therapist that he didn't know much about. Clearly the person who held John now was posing as her. He remembered her being mundane and unassuming. Like Faith was.

As they were being driven to the place Sherlock couldn't stand to be silent any longer.

"So why do you keep saying that it's a family matter Mycroft?"

Mycroft for once didn't pretend not to know. It was time to clear things up. For that he was glad.

"You remember our childhood. Dreadful in its mediocrity." Mycroft started and all Sherlock could do was nod along and stare out the window. Not the days he often remembered. Many things have become blurred and lost to him with time. Both of them seemed lost in the past as the low hum of the engine kept them from complete silence.

"I always envied how little kids our age knew, and how the world just looked hollow and empty. Devoid of idea and knowledge. One we always strived for."

Sherlock closed his eyes as the scene took place in his mind. The feeling of not belonging and utter loneliness that filled him from time to time when he was younger returned. It felt familiar as he pressed his forehead on the cool glass of the car window. The other kids never really liked him. He couldn't remember the time when it wasn't so.

"We soon outgrew what our parents could teach us and it became taxing. The interest in something more was there from an early age."

The lines on the wall he saw, the mockery from his peers still fresh.

"It was weird not being able to be one of them people. I thought being smart was better, easier but alas it wasn't as simple as that."

The raindrops slid down the window, as if to paint every emotion he felt during his childhood.

"But it wasn't always so brother. We weren't so devoid of humanity. Not from the start."

He turned to his brother. Mycroft looked stubbornly ahead as be continued.

"And certainty not you Sherlock."

He saw his dog on the small field - happy to be around his master but something felt off about it.

"Enough of the history class Mycroft, what does it all matter besides the one name."

Unsettled as he was the first time his brother said it, he knew that the truth was the only way that both of them could face their demons.

"Eurus." Sherlock repeated. "You said that name like it was supposed to explain everything."

There was pity in Mycroft's eyes then and he felt uneasy just by witnessing it. It felt so out of their norm that it only solidified his belief this was serious.

"You yourself Sherlock weren't the same, not since Redbeard and what it all masks is the deeper tragedy… A tragedy you forgot."

His head started to hurt, nothing made sense, but suddenly he heard children laughing. He saw in his head, Mycroft watching over him as he played with Redbeard. Laughing and carefree - he never saw himself this way before. Didn't remember any if it.

Now it was like pieces of a puzzle, slowly sliding into place.

"What are you talking about Mycroft?" he persisted further.

The thunder was heard in the distance as the city was covered in a shower. It only seemed to grow stronger with time. This time Mycroft looked him in the eyes.

"The fact that you had a sister and you forgot about her."

The laughter grew louder, the smell of grass enveloped his senses and as young Sherlock moved his gaze from Mycroft over the small clearing he saw a girl.

_Sherlock I want to play too._

The childlike glee that was present made him think he was remembering some other family. From a movie or a TV show. This wasn't him. Couldn't be.

_Come play with me._

He could hear the agitation in her voice, the distress his young self seemed to ignore as he continued to play with Redbeard.

"Not now."

The words were torn from his lips and he snapped back into present. His brow was covered in sweat and his body felt cold. A shiver passed through him.

Mycroft looked at him calculating how much he knew. Not much, but the face of a small girl seeking his attention was burned in his mind.

"How could I forget?"

Mycroft released a breath, looking tired and beaten down. Like it had held him prisoner all his life. The fact that there were three, not two.

"It would appear that after the incident, your brain erased and rewrote some memories and to you it was like she never existed."

_Later Eurus, I promise._

"There never was a later, was there?"

He had a sister. One he forgot completely save for the small snippets that showed her as nothing but an innocent child.

"Sadly no, after all she was the one who killed your dear friend."

The pitiful howl echoed and all he heard was water afterwards as if through a fog.

"Redbeard."

Mycroft looked uncertain but nodded in the end.

"You called him that, yes."

Still that was not what he needed now.

"Why did she disappear, what happened to her?"

The sound of his voice left no room for argument.

"To know the answer to that you have to understand something Sherlock. She is something else…"

Once more his older brother gazed at the empty streets that rolled past the window.

"I was considered smart, compared to many - a genius. She picked up on things, learned and understood faster than even I could follow."

Sherlock remembered some puzzles, code that she used to use. Puzzles she created for him, to have fun.

"She would start these strange anecdotal rhymes about life and run little behavior experiments with you and other susceptible to her will. She was a child and yet something more."

Then it all changed, the happy memory of a day by the water replaced by the police cars on that field searching for something, but he didn't remember what.

"Then she made Redbeard disappear and when we asked her, she just said you didn't solve the puzzle so you couldn't play with him anymore."

He saw the small girl looking at him, her eyes telling him something he didn't understand. Now he could see that there was loss there. A loss of what, a childhood, a family, something else…

"The best psychiatrists came and went until there was only one place left for her."

"Sherrinford."

"Yes."

That was a bitter pill to swallow.

"You are telling me that our sister was held in a black site institution since her childhood?"

Mycroft looked distressed, but it was the truth. There was no denying it.

"Yes, there wasn't much we... I helped make her situation manageable, but Eurus was always too smart for that."

He saw Faith at Baker Street, saw her concealed curiosity and interest beyond the case. He saw the small girl transform into a woman who wore the mask of Faith.

"She always had one goal afterwards…"

He could already guess, before Mycroft even said it.

"Put me through the same ordeal." he filled in the blanks.

With that Mycroft only shook his head and turned his phone towards him. It was an empty looking wall of what could be a very sterile looking room. And on it, it simply said, in black latters

_Kill Sherlock Holmes._

"Ah well... a death in the family. How poetic?"

Mycroft didn't find it funny, but took out a pack of cigarettes and offered him one. His fingers grasped the frail stick and in the next moment its contents were traveling to his lungs, offering relief.

"Now is not the time for your quips, but as we are about to face our sister who escaped from a secured institution…"

"That's putting it mildly."

"…this will be our last respite before it all goes down. Anything to say before she can pick it up and twist our minds to suit her needs?"

Sherlock let the pressure fester before exhaling and letting the small space fill with smoke.

"Always knew we were different Mycroft, but this... I don't know how to even start and accept all of this." he admitted.

The car slowly rolled to a stop. Driver got out to open the door for Mycroft. Rain had slowly stopped.

"Well I am afraid there is no time for that now. The moment to meet the long lost family is upon us, brother mine."

They stepped out and shared a look of understanding before they both tossed their cigarettes to the side.

"How are we to go about it?"

Mycroft looked at the house before him. Remembering the last time he was here. It seemed so long ago. Many things happened, but if it was about to end it might as well end here.

"With a clear mind and a steady hand." Mycroft scoffed.

"I expected more from you."

"Maybe not when we are home Sherlock."

The therapist's house dissipated only to turn into a run down house right before his eyes. Musgrave. Their home. He looked a bit confused as he turned to Mycroft and he noticed.

"Where did you think we were?"

The house looked old and burned, smell of wet wood and mold threatening to choke him, combined with the memories that wanted to burst to the surface but were buried too deep. It felt hollow and empty like no one had been here in years. Then again appearances could be deceiving.

"Not here." Sherlock choked out, standing beside his brother.

Still, nothing could be done to change that. This would be the one family meeting they won't forget.

"Time to face the music."

Mycroft seemed to agree as they both made their way into the house, hoping beyond hope that it could all be resolved tonight.

-/-

Sherlock took another breath as they slowly made their way inside. As they passed the front door he looked one more time to the side of the house. He could almost taste the ash and burned brick - the flames licking along the outside walls.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?"

Mycroft seemed rather chatty despite their situation. Maybe that was his way of dealing with nerves. The front door creaked and groaned under the sudden force.

"Don't remember the half of it, but it still puts me on edge."

As they stepped inside, nothing but hollow wind coursing through the abandoned place could be heard. That and their own footsteps. He glanced at the staircase next to it.

He outstretched his hand towards the small girl running up the stairs.

_Come Sherlock,_ he could hear her happy chant.

He glanced towards Mycroft who looked none the wiser as he walked further into the ground floor. Somehow he had a feeling she was upstairs.

He glanced up the stairs but no one was there. He took a moment to collect himself and followed Mycroft. As they stepped into what looked like charred remains of the living room, his gaze fell on the small untouched TV. Small recorder and the static playing was the only thing that lit up the room.

He glanced at Mycroft, silently asking what to do and he just nodded his head towards the tape recorder. The tape was till sticking out of it, a simple title written on it in neat handwriting – mother's.

_Eurus and Sherlock play._

He glanced once more to his brother but he had relaxed somewhat as if he knew what the tape was. His hand gripped the cold plastic and pushed the tape to play.

After a moment of static, a distorted picture appeared.

_I want to play also,_ he heard a girl's voice and just like that his mind took him there…

_Eurus came running into the room as their mother glanced from the video camera._

" _I know, you are great but I wanted to show that Sherlock can play too honey."_

_His hands felt tired from holding the violin but seeing his sister somehow made him forget. It felt so strained up until then. He felt the pressure of performing and now he would muck it if he did it alone._

" _But Shelock needs help mommy. I want to help him."_

_Her small hands waved emphatically as their mother shook her head in amusement._

" _Sher-lock, honey. Got to say it right."_

_Eurus pouted in return, her ears turning red._

" _I don't have all the teeth yet. Just you wait and I'll do it geat."_

_Their mother laughed at her._

" _You mean great…"_

" _Yes."_

_With that his violin fell from his grip. He didn't like it now that his mom and sister, plus a video camera were there. He felt nervous._

_Eurus came up to him, pulling out her violin from the corner._

" _Come on, just like we played in the garden," she encouraged with a relaxed smile, filled with joy at a chance to be the center of attention._

" _Okay."_

_With that he took his violin and after a moment he still hadn't started, so Eurus took it upon herself, starting the song they practiced. With an encouraging nod from her, he was able to join in. With that a beautiful melody filled the room for a couple of minutes and when they finished they heard their mother clap._

" _Ah you two are just too sweet."_

_The rush of anger came._

" _I am not. I'm a boy. Boys aren't sweet."_

_He heard his mother laugh as Eurus chanted at him the word sweet._

" _I want to be a pirate. Pirates are cool not sweet."_

The laughter followed and then the video stopped. He remembered her, the energetic little girl who he used to share his childhood with. An important person. A person who he forgot.

"The last happy memory of you."

He tore his gaze from the static and looked at his brother with a small smile on his face. The regret for the past seemed great in his eyes.

"How could you let me forget her Mycroft?"

The venom in his voice surprised him, even as it echoed across the hollow room.

"After the incident, I just didn't know how to deal with it. I was just trying to grasp the horror and the sorrow that our parents went through and when you somehow just erased it when we found you...I let it be. It was for the best."

Another piece of a puzzle slid in place.

"Found me where?" he asked.

Mycroft glanced at him, the toll this was taking evident in his every movement.

"Down on that field, said you were searching for Redbeard. You collapsed from exhaustion. Besides that there were only a few bumps and bruises. You slept for two days and when you woke up, you didn't remember."

His fingers twitched as he felt the burn of cuts that the tall grass left on his hands as he ran through it that day in search for Redbeard.

"But what about when I was older?"

His brother seemed to struggle with his thoughts and with his words. He almost felt sorry for him.

"Tell me."

"I didn't want to put this family through the same pain once more," he admitted. "The minute you'd find out the truth you would've rushed to our parents, demanded and blamed them just to satisfy your curiosity. In the end it wouldn't change much, she would still be locked up in that place. Dangerous and out of reach."

He sunk down the wall, his voice tired and thin. But his face was void of emotion. His hands grasped his knees as if he needed to hold on to something.

"That helplessness Sherlock... I didn't want that for you."

As he said that everything was still. Sherlock pulled his hand through his hair and he felt that helplessness pull at him. The columniation of all those years. She was alone and scared. And he wasn't there.

"She is our sister Mycroft. She deserved better."

He glanced at Mycroft, seeing him so beaten down didn't sit well with him. He wanted them to get past this and be better for it. He could see his point, understand the way Mycroft always worked. Be as objective about an issue as possible and make the best decision he could with the smallest possible consequences. Noble and all. But…

"That wasn't your decision to make."

The creaks and wind could be heard but brothers spent some time in silence, contemplating and swallowing the bitter pill of the truth.

"Perhaps not, dear brother. But it was the only one I knew how to make."

And there it was. The core of Mycroft and as much as he wanted, he knew that his brother couldn't empathize in a way most people would. Sure, he learned with age but when he was younger he was always distant. Older, closed off - built to be an island.

"I guess the time really does make a person wiser. We thought we were so clever…"

Sherlock finally noticed a note next to the TV. He slowly moved towards it.

"We were only children…"

He glanced at his brother as he opened the small note.

"And we did the best we could with the knowledge we had."

Mycroft looked surprised and he just let his brother read his decision from his face. No need for words. He read the note and dropped it to the floor. He pulled the collar of his coat and turned to go upstairs. He heard Mycroft starting to stand up to follow, but he halted him.

"No brother. It would appear she and I need to get reacquainted. You can follow if you hear a gunshot."

Mycroft looked like he wanted to argue but after looking back at Sherlock, who tried to appear as unflinching as he wanted to feel he relented.

"Don't be too much like yourself up there."

He smiled and moved away.

"When have I ever…"

With that he moved upstairs, the groan from every step that he took made it feel like his own emotional weight was pressing it down. With every step, the burden grew. His mind flashed on the note.

_Come and play Sherlock. No need for big brother or Redbeard may be gone too soon for you to do your part. Thread lightly brother_.

"She is a clever one, isn't she…" he muttered to himself as a small smile stretched on his face. As much as he was surprised by the development, finally meeting her in person without the mask made him happy.

How very human of him. The last step echoed and he was in front of a familiar door. With a deep breath he turned the handle.

-/-

As he entered his imagination got the best of him. Expecting who knows what when he entered only to find ordinary.

The run down walls and faded wallpaper. Nothing but creak under his footsteps as the floors woodwork groaned. He expected a master plan, a visual stimulation that would have him on his knees.

Yet, it was nothing of sorts. The room was empty except for the torn up child's bed that was on the far side of the room. Right next to it was a hole that let you see on the room below.

The other thing he noticed were the two wooded chairs placed on the opposite side across the said hole. Leaned on them were two violins.

He had to admit that looked odd even to him. Finally on the bed he noticed a small girl. Her child-like features present in his memory and it was all he could see after watching that damned tape downstairs.

"I used to make you laugh…"

As she said it, the fog cleared and he could see the striking if not a bit damaged person that sat there instead.

He remembered when she came to his flat as Faith, could not for the life of him know how he was so easily tricked. Guess the drugs do their job a little too well sometimes. Or maybe she was just good with disguises, a thing they had in common.

"Pardon?"

He met her gaze, the knowledge and wisdom radiating from them. He felt frozen in his place. She traced the small bed with the sort of fondness held for a memory that he knew wasn't there.

"Yes...one time I made you laugh so hard that out parents had to come and see what was going on."

He only heard defending screams in his head and the terror that came with it. She stood up, the eerie smile still on her face as if she just wasn't there. Regarding him with the same focus he probably did her she continued.

"That is until they told me that you were not laughing. You were screaming Sherlock."

The fear filled him unwillingly but still he tried to remain unfazed. He knew she was just trying to get into his head.

This was his room from childhood. His horrors.

"It was a long time ago, I forgot."

Even now he could hear his panicked scream, a call for help. From what he did not know, but she appeared to him like the devil himself.

She saw right through him.

"Shame, I thought it would be nice to go down that road and pick it apart."

She was saying things that made him feel on edge, unsettled. Finally she made her way to the chair and sat down.

"Remember how I taught you to play. Note by note. You were eager and I thought it was quite nice. To spend time with you."

He suddenly remembered what he was there for.

"Where is John?"

She seemed unbothered by his outburst.

"The video I had shown you was the columniation of hard work. As hard as kids can work anyway. But then there wasn't this noise in my head."

She picked a few strings on her violin, before taking it in her hand.

"I want to hear that silence in my head again, Sherlock."

She took the bow and prepared to play but first she nudged her head towards him. Showing him he should take the other seat.

"Come play."

But he didn't move from the spot. Now there were more important things to answer.

"No, you will tell me where John is or I will let Mycroft here and I doubt he will use gloves."

She only vainly smiled at his attempt to get some ground.

"Please, I have already revealed everything to you. It is all in your head Sherlock."

He looked confused. For the first time he felt like John did in the presence of the Holmes brothers.

"But you will need my help to access that memory if you want to save him. Your very own Redbeard."

He was already on his way to the damned chair and as he sat down the thing creaked like everything else in this bloody place.

He tried to get a read on her, but everything about her was already documented in detailed reports. There was no need for deduction. Except the one that he was on the back foot.

"So show me, don't be shy."

He took the violin, its familiar weight bringing him comfort. The soft wood beneath his fingers soothing his already tense nerves.

The bow was there and he was ready to play, waiting for her to make a move.

"Come now Sherlock, tell me what you've been up to. Play it."

Her eyes shining, taking in every note he would play and every move he would make. She was like a machine. Fascinated with human actions.

He let out a breath, calmed his heart and cleared his mind. This time he would let instinct lead his hand. What she would read from it he did not know, but his fingers started to work and the melody filled the room.

Soft pitch and the low hum of sorrow filled the room. He started to lose himself in the melody when she abruptly stopped him.

A laugh that sounded hollow to his ears filled the room.

"I can't believe it... You- pinning for someone."

He raised his gaze to her but she almost looked angry, irritated.

"You were supposed to be _better_. Not long for someone. Still- I find it intriguing."

It's almost like two people resided in her. One full of curiosity and wonder, other cruel and vicious.

"What are you talking about?"

She looked incredulous.

"Is your memory so faulty brother? Did the woman take your sense as well? Hm…"

With that she picked a few notes herself. Perfectly replicating what he played and then be noticed - it was the melody he created for _her_. How did he lose himself so much and let it slip?

"I don't care about this, tell me where John is?" he persisted.

But she only continued to play the same melody. Like she already knew it. The depth of her knowledge frightened him for the first time. He was about to stand up and go get Mycroft and put this to an end when she said,

"You can go get brother dearest or you can sit back in that chair to find out where Redbeard is. It is your choice but two people will die if you don't play the game."

He stopped mid standing up, cold shiver running through him.

"What?"

She only stared at him as if he wasn't even there. Right through him. The screams and terrors of those nights rang in his head.

"Didn't she tell you…"

_I'm here._

"…I'm here."

He slumped back in the chair, eyes unfocussed. Could things get any worse? The water, the screams were back and the barks of his childhood dog all around him. He was staring at the edge into the abyss and as he looked at Eurus…

…the abyss was staring right back at him.

-/-

"Breathe Sherlock…"

He felt like he was inside of a vertigo and it just wouldn't let up. He was paralyzed enough with knowing John was in danger but her also… It left him feeling overwhelmed.

He tried to take calming breaths, grasping with his hands the armrests like a lifeline. The cold wood groaned in protest.

"Steady." he heard her say. Yet the tone never gave way to emotion. It was monotone, flat as if treating an animal in a zoo. He needed to get a grip, but it always excided his grasp.

"Shut up." was all he could growl in return. He did not need her to help him. Mycroft was counting on him to contain the situation but here he was acting like a child. With just a few remarks from her and he was back in his very own childhood hell.

"Now, tell me where are they! Enough of these games."

She was still caressing her violin, lost in her own mind. As if she didn't hear him.

"All alone up here…" he heard her say, but it was making no sense.

"Eurus!"

His patience on end and his anger getting the best of him. Her gaze finally cleared and she took notice of him.

"Games, my dear brother, are all we have left. Don't you agree? Without the everyday evil where would your mind take you, hm? Straight to hell where you would probably share a cell next to me."

Her voice was cold, but her eyes were like a storm. She was starting to get annoyed with him, very much as he was with her. Good, at least he is not the only one.

"So Sherlock get your mind back to the matter at hand or John will die, sooner rather than later. As for Ms. Adler, well that is the next puzzle that awaits you."

Her fingers tapped an ominous tone on the wood of the chair and as it echoed around the room she regarded him with expectation.

"Shall we begin?"

He gripped the violin in his hand, the wires and familiar frame making him focus.

He took her appearance in. The clothes - obviously from institution. No make up, or perfume. Blank. She almost seemed disappointed.

"No that is not how we play. It is not time for your second grade deductions. No we are not deducing based on physical, but based on emotional."

She did always say he had to remember. Which means there was something he should know.

_I'll be Whitebeard and you…_

But as much as he tried his memories looked like a distorted water surface. He could catch a glimpse of a frame but it made no sense to him.

"That is it, dig deeper. Tear down those walls and face the facts Sherlock."

He remembered Mycroft, his ashen face from that day. The way his parents looked at him with pity and at her with fear, as they finally understood the danger she was and could be.

Redbeard paid the price. For her need to be included and her need to always tear down anything that was of value to him.

"If my memory is the key then it can only be one thing Eurus."

She pulled herself out of the chair, going around it and marching towards him. She looked thrilled, like it was fun and she didn't have a care in the world. Reminded him of that girl with carefree smile as they played together.

"Go on… Tell me."

She was next to him, her gaze like a laser boring through him. Eyes wide like she wasn't seeing him at all.

"Say it Sherlock."

He looked at her leaning towards him with that look that took him back. When she was hovering over him, always giving him little riddles to solve. Riddles much too hard for a young child, but not her. The true prodigy.

It also brought him back when he was searching for Redbeard, his friend. He saw himself walking over the small back yard, over the fence and into the woods. Following small breadcrumbs she left for him. Small pieces like an eye patch and a toy sword.

"I looked for him that day. You said it was like hide and seek."

She was still looking at him like he was about to open Pandora's Box. He feared that may be true. He recalled as he trekked into the woods towards a familiar well. There he heard whimpers that brought him closer.

"I came to that well in the woods. I heard whimpering…"

She came even closer as if trying to absorb him in his madness.

"No Sherlock. What did you hear?"

His mind was making his head spin. Trying to make sense of everything that was coming back to him.

"It was a whimper, a dog…"

In the next moment there was an echo and his head was whipped to the right side. His cheek was on fire.

"Wrong! What did you hear Sherlock?"

She really looked like the devil to him then. It was like he was standing in the middle of a storm and she was the one taking him apart. The east wind.

"I don't understand…" he muttered, but she slapped him again.

"Say it Sherlock, don't be a coward. Face the truth!" she shouted, bit oddly her face showed no emotion. The eerie feeling was back.

_I wanna go home. Help me…_

His mind stilled. No they were not whimpers. They were cries. He looked at his sister for the first time seeing the monster Mycroft seemed to believe so strongly that she was- is.

"They were cries…"

She pushed on, unconcerned that he was falling apart at seems.

"Cries of who Sherlock?"

He felt Redbeard's fur under his hand and with a deep breath he let it go. Let it all go. The fur was gone and he was holding a child's hand. Small, frail and belonging to a boy.

Thomas.

"Thomas."

His best friend.

_I'll be Whitebeard and you'll be Redbeard._

A small ginger boy with an innocent smile on his face happily following along in his little pirate adventure. None the wiser of the horror that would happen.

"There it is. You finally see the truth Sherlock."

He stumbled from the chair and moved to a far wall. Moving himself upright as she stood on the same spot studying him.

"You…"

His mouth felt dry, he tried to swallow to get the words out, but all he could see was his friend's face crying for help.

"…killed him." he finished, his voice breaking.

She smiled at him, her eyes devoid of any emotion.

"Yes I did, and when you were about to find him I hit you in the head with a toy sword."

She moved away from the chair and walked to the violin on her side.

"I wanted to toss you down the well but I wasn't strong enough and Mycroft found us before I could do anything else. Still, the boy named Thomas, drowned in that well by the time he came."

He watched as she tossed the violin to the ground and it smashed to pieces. In the next moment the door was opened and Mycroft came in holding his cane, but it was stripped of its sheath so it was a blade.

"What…" he started to say as he took in the scene before him, but as Eurus stood up he saw she was holding a gun that she grabbed from the shattered violin. She continued as if he wasn't there.

"I was so happy that you got the puzzle and had spent time with me, but then as I saw that you will once more go and play with your friend, leaving me to the side again I…"

For the first time he saw her rattled and unsure.

"I couldn't let that happen."

So there it was. The aching truth. Mycroft understood what happened there and lowered his blade. It wasn't like he could do anything.

"Enough of this Eurus."

His commanding voice boomed around them and Sherlock finally moved to stand next to him. It was all out there. The way his brain sheltered him from the truth and the way he failed his sister. In her mind it was a betrayal but to him it was just another fun day out with a friend. Her mind made it much more frightening to a child and she needed to react. No one there for her to explain that he wasn't going anywhere.

That they were family. Well time to live with those mistakes. He brushed his coat and regarded his siblings.

"Holmes siblings finally together."

Mycroft and Eurus looked at him oddly but he really didn't want to spend too much time analyzing what it all meant. All he knew was that her actions made him into a man he was today. A man who was afraid of his own humanity.

He wished for a cigarette because another truth reared its ugly head. Made him into a man who as much as he was hurt and saddened by the fate of a boy named Thomas, his friend, it just didn't impact him the same way.

He didn't mean anything to him. Just a slideshow in his head. As heartless as it sounded. He was not a memory. Not if it didn't help him solve a case.

She was still standing there with a gun pointed at the two of them. Calm and collected. Really the smartest Holmes.

"Aren't we a screwed up bunch?" he asked and Eurus seemed to relax her grip on the gun. Mycroft was stoic through it all.

"You should see us at Christmas." Mycroft said to Eurus and the woman looked confused by their behavior. He almost laughed at how baffled she was by their banter.

"Yes well that's because you always want to help mother around the kitchen and then realize with all your vast knowledge you can't even make an omelet to save your life Mycroft."

His brother smirked at his antics, eyes still looking at Eurus and her gun.

"You two are strange."

Mycroft snorted but Sherlock was quick to retort.

"You're the one to talk."

She smiled and then looked away, embarrassed at her own reaction. What did you know? There was a human under there after all.

"I told you I killed your friend and this is how you react?"

Mycroft chimed in, even though he saw how tense he looked.

"That's Sherlock for you."

He glared at his brother and this one finally understood that he was still in trouble.

"No Mycroft. I think that you made the mistake of separating a little girl from her family. She was a child and if she was locked up…. I sure as hell could've been there. Because we all know that place is not a humanitarian prison."

He knew very well what that place was because if he made the wrong move he could've ended up there as well. Be the same twisted human, isolated and under a threat all the time.

"Now is not the time."

He glared at Mycroft.

"Now is a bloody well time Mycroft."

But before he could say anything more the gun was cocked. Their heads snapped towards Eurus.

"It is very noble of you, but enough of the theatrics. Time for a test."

Somehow he didn't like the sound of that.

"There is a gun in your violin also. Take it."

He went to the violin after sharing a look with Mycroft. He broke the prized possession and took the gun. Heavy, but not heavy enough. Probably empty mag. One bullet in the chamber.

"Good," she said "Now Sherlock…"

He tried to divert in some way her train of thought.

"Alright I remembered Redbeard so I deserve a chance to go and save John."

She shook her head and put the gun in his sight. A slow smile stretched on her face.

"No you know that there was a second puzzle."

_I'm here…_

"Irene…" escaped from his lips before he could think. Mycroft blinked.

"What about Miss Adler?"

"She's here."

Eurus nodded her head.

"Precisely. Now…"

She nodded at Sherlock and motioned at Mycroft.

"You can let Mycroft go and save John as a reward that you finally remembered. But then that would be sadly the end of Mrs. Adler and you…"

His eyes snapped towards her. Malice burning in his throat. Keep calm.

"Or you can kill your dear brother and go save John yourself and maybe even figure out where the woman is…"

She motioned at them.

"So what will it be Sherlock... Your dear brother or your best friend and the woman you love."

Mycroft relaxed in his hopeless situation. As if he already knew the outcome. He looked at Eurus and smiled comfortably. No anger there. Then his gaze settled on Sherlock.

"So I guess it came down to it, brother mine."

He pointed the gun at Mycroft, his face twisted with the inner conflict that was clear in his eyes. Mycroft saw it all.

"Holmes killing Holmes."

It seemed poetic, sure. But that was not what he had in mind when he felt the cold steel of the gun in his hand. The same one that was so haphazardly being pointed at his brother.

_Think, think, think…_

It was on repeat inside his head. He looked at Eurus who seemed fascinated by the development she orchestrated. Clever girl.

He decided not to dwell on the situation and rather focus on how to get out of it.

"Well than we both know that this is as good time as any to show your dislike towards me, Sherlock." Mycroft said, looking as stoic and unimpressed as ever. "All it would take…"

But Sherlock saw through his little mind game even before he got a chance to continue.

"Shut up!"

He glanced around the room, trying to think of some sort of path that he could follow.

"I'm trying to think and your self-sacrificing nonsense is not what I need right now."

Mycroft almost looked insulted at his little outburst, but there was no need for him to be polite at a moment like this.

When it came down to it, his dear sister had the advantage. She had his friend and his…well Irene. Not only that but she was making him chose, Mycroft or…

This was a fickle one indeed. His hand started to cramp up because of how tightly he was holding the weapon. He tried to relax. The tendons in his arm protested but he paid them no mind.

Eurus looked to be getting bored by all the wait.

"Come on Sherlock, the clock is ticking."

He growled at her remark. Like he didn't know that. He looked at her ready to retort when he saw it.

She was sweating, a light sheen covered her forehead. What could it mean? It's not the emotional strain. He regarded her for a moment.

"Surely not..."

Mycroft looked at him in confusion while Eurus narrowed her eyes at him.

He gazed at her gun and then it started to form in his head. She had the knowledge about it but she was locked away for years in a place where her using a gun in any capacity would have been impossible.

That implied a lack of experience with a fire weapon. Which meant that even if she knew about the specifics of firing a gun, applying that knowledge in reality, for the first time was a whole different thing. Why the first time? Well because she held it a bit awkwardly, not as if she knew how to handle it. Her stance was wrong.

Is she ready for a deafening echo of a shot? This was a small room, it would catch her off guard for sure.

"I'm growing bored of this Sherlock." she sing-songed.

He only looked at her, not willing to cave to her demand.

"Sherlock…" Mycroft started to say as he straightened his suit and tie.

"Quit it Mycroft. I told you to stay quiet."

"Well isn't this an odd turn of events? Maybe I gave the gun to the wrong brother." Eurus chimed in. They both glared at her.

"Stay out of it."

She was dumbfounded by their interaction. Not understanding how they could act that way even under duress.

"Enough of this."

She started to raise the gun towards Mycroft and that was all he needed.

He turned on instinct as he saw her outstretched hand and what followed was a deafening bang.

In the commotion he did not stop. As expected she was startled by the sound just enough for him to turn and shoot her gun. And as she was shocked by the sudden pain he was already at her side taking her bloodied gun and calling Mycroft.

She was whimpering and holding her hand to her chest as blood oozed from it.

"Mycroft!" he called, as he heard his big brother mutter something.

"Christ Sherlock, I just had this suit cleaned."

"Give me the jacket."

Mycroft did as he was told, for the first time in his life if you asked Sherlock. Then he tore it to make a bandage for her hand all the while ranting at her.

"You really know how to make a mess of things don't you? Damn it why can't there ever be an easy way to introduce anything in this family…"

Mycroft was already on the phone calling whoever he needed to clean up the mess and help her.

Still there were things that needed to be done first.

"Go get John, Mycroft. He is in the well behind the house. You know where."

Mycroft finally connected the dots. What it meant for Sherlock to say that. All the memories were there. He remembered it all.

"Shouldn't you be…"

"Go!" he yelled and Mycroft could hear a slight tremble in his voice.

"Quit interrupting me damn it."

"Then don't act like an idiot brother. Go… this is still not over."

His brother stilled at the thought and with a nod he was gone. Sherlock shouted after him.

"Call me when you get him."

"I am not your butler Sherlock."

With that he disappeared behind the door and as much he protested he knew Mycroft would follow orders this time. It wasn't only that he needed more information from dear sister. It's also that in a way Mycroft needed this.

He was the only one old enough to really carry the burden of having such screwed up siblings. The failure of not being there for Eurus was still clear on his face. The fact that he couldn't prevent what happened to Thomas weighted heavy on him as it did Sherlock.

So, Mycroft needed this as much as he did. And also there was more to be done.

He placed Eurus on the chair, her wounded hand still clutched in her other one, eyes dazed as she gazed at him.

"You shot me Sherlock."

"Yes yes. It's just a graze. Welcome to the family."

"I can't believe you shot me."

She almost seemed to come out of her daze a different person. Like she finally saw him and not some young version she was trying to toy with.

"You threatened to kill my friend and wanted me to kill Mycroft. You got off better than most who made the same threats."

She finally grasped at what he was saying. How far he would go for the ones he cared about.

"It would appear so."

"You're family so you get that one pass, but that all is rendered mute if you don't tell me where she is."

Eurus was lost in her own head at the notion of it all.

"It's so cold in here. Always looking from the outside, never the one to be there…" she rambled on, lost in her own mind. If he didn't know better it looked like she was having a panic attack of sorts. Did she take meds at the institution? Was this the effect of the isolation and treatment?

"Then the pressure inside just grows too much. So many things in there."

She was looking through him as she said it. The pain he saw there made the guilt he tried to bury come back full force. Guess even after everything he somehow felt protective of her.

"It all comes out twisted. Make it stop Sherlock…"

Still no tears, just a hollow look of unimaginable agony on her face. Where she was he could not follow. In her he saw a glimpse of vast hell his own mind could be, and for once he didn't want to know or see the rest.

Being the smartest person in the room didn't always make things great. Mostly it made you lonely. He would know.

"Shh, it's not real. You're just having a panic attack. Your body is catching up to the stress of the past few days. You just aren't used to it."

Her eyes pleaded with him and he saw that small girl again from the past. The one who spend time to teach him things and include him a little bit in the way her mind worked.

"It hurts so much."

He nodded in sympathy.

"I know it does and it will continue to hurt, but you can't let that bring you down. I'm here."

She smiled slowly.

"I was right before. You are nice."

He wanted to negate, say something to deflect but now there was no time for hiding. Humanity got him this far, maybe there won't be a need for any more games.

"Let's make that our secret, hm."

She nodded through the haze. He saw her calming down a bit, her frame slightly shaking. She may be a genius, but the real world is hard on everyone and if you weren't there for the half of it...well it will bring you down. Isolation could only emphasize that.

He grasped her shoulders gently.

"Now tell me, where is she Eurus?"

She looked up and grinned a little as she pulled out a phone.

"I sent you a message when you were leaving Baker Street. What did it say?"

He didn't have to think about it.

"I'm here."

She nodded as his phone rang.

_Mycroft._

He answered. The weight back on his shoulders.

"I found him Sherlock. A bit bruised up and suffering a minor case of hypothermia but Dr. Watson is all right. We will meet you there."

He let out a breath of relief. One he didn't know he was holding.

"No need, take him to the hospital to be sure."

"My people will take care of it."

Sometimes it was good that his brother was the Queen of England.

"Good."

"What will you do?"

He glanced at Eurus next to him, lost and afraid.

"I will let you take care of our sister. Get here so we can finish this."

"Already on my way." Mycroft said in him MI6 voice.

He put the phone in his coat and focused back on Eurus. She met his gaze and continued her earlier thought.

"Yes that was it and you were leaving Baker Street at the time so I left her there."

He couldn't fully grasp her explanation. She noticed.

"The Woman or Irene Adler was not THAT hard to find, as I found her in your Bedroom at Baker Street. She snuck in to see you I assume so not wanting for her to mess up my plan I knocked her out."

Finally it all dawned on him. If he just stayed a moment longer maybe he'd got to all earlier. The fact was he rarely went into his bedroom. So it could've ended up the same.

She saw that he understood it.

"I was never actually going to hurt her but I did see a huge opening in the way I could manipulate you. She didn't seem that important as your friends as you didn't see her that often in comparison."

But she continued knowingly.

"But I quickly saw how I wrong was in my assessment."

He glanced at the floor not wanting her to read him that easily. In that moment Mycroft came in. He just glanced his way.

"You'll be okay. This time it will be different."

A small smile was on her face and somehow he believed it. Because he knew how empty and hollow life could be for people like them. Now he had someone who understood and could share the burden with him.

"Go to her."

Mycroft was as confused as ever by the development. Like it was a different person there. Maybe it was. Maybe they both were.

He stood up and went towards the door, but not before nodding at his brother.

"You take care of her. Make sure it is better this time. That you do better this time."

A slight frown was there but after a moment he nodded.

"I will see to it."

With that he was gone. Time to finally face his biggest fear.

Time to face her.

-/-

He pocketed the phone after Mycroft called to assure him John was doing well and that he left him at his home with Rosie. Said he needed some time alone anyway.

He opened the familiar 221B and went up the stairs, his hand slowly tracing the cold wall trying to find something to ground him.

"Sherlock is everything okay?" he heard Mrs. Hudson ask from downstairs, eager for some sort of news.

"Yes, everything is alright. I need some time to myself. Don't bother me."

"Well that's a bit rude." he heard her mutter to herself. Still he couldn't make himself care for it. Not when she was here.

"Come on, it can't be that different. You imagined the woman for the better part of the past few days...and before that. What's so different if she was actually here?" he asked himself as he came to a halt before his door. What would be different indeed? Everything and nothing at the same time.

His hand shook as he turned the handle and went inside, greeted by the familiar silence. Nothing out of the ordinary. Exactly like he left it. He almost felt disappointed. Almost.

He looked towards his bedroom door that was closed. Eurus said she'd be there. Was it another trick?

He slowly stepped in, feeling like an intruder in his own home.

"This is ridiculous." he whispered. Damn it, she had him whispering in his own flat. Damn it all.

He scoffed at his own childish behavior before striding towards the door, his heart pounding in his ears. The darkness of the small doorway consumed him and he found the door handle only because he was so familiar with the place.

Did he close the door when he left? Suddenly he couldn't remember exactly.

As quickly as he could he nudged the door open and stepped inside. The clean air that was coming from the open window attacked his senses making him take a deep breath. The smell of fresh sheets was in the air and the dimly lit room was reveling very little to his eyes.

There was not much to see until he gazed upon his bed and…

…there she was.

She looked at piece covered with a blanket and none the wiser to the world around her. He stood there just watching her form.

Everything was different yet the same about her. The dark curls that fell on the pillow and an impish smile that was unknowingly on her face. If he didn't know better he's assume she was just sleeping.

He finally snapped from his trance like state and moved towards the bed. Still, he was cautious not to disturb her, even though he knew that she was knocked out.

He slowly sat down next to her, his hand unknowingly tracing her shoulder before he methodically placed two fingers on her throat and felt her pulse. Slow and steady, normal for people experiencing REM sleep.

She was asleep. Now he really didn't know what to do. How would she react when she wakes up and finds out what Eurus did? Not well if you asked him.

His eyes took her in for a moment before he stood up and took his coat off. As he placed it on the hanger he felt like the tension of the day seeped away with it from him. Just another case wrapped.

He looked over his shoulder again to make sure she was okay. She was still there. Not long before she wakes up if he calculated the blunt force and the time it happened. Half an hour at most.

Sherlock undid his cufflinks and after a moment of debating with himself laid down on the other side. Over the blanket and stiff as a board.

It felt weird but not unpleasant he noticed. Mostly he couldn't tolerate people invading his personal space, but with her, somehow he didn't mind.

He snorted at the thought. He could almost see John laughing at his ignorance. Well ignorance kept him from getting hurt. He stared at the ceiling, his thoughts fogging up.

It was a hard day, emotionally. In the next moment he was out like the light.

-/-

A sudden siren passing by snapped him out of his state. His body felt like led, every bone ached as if the emotional struggle seeped into his bones.

His mind finally started to feel alert but he didn't want to open his eyes. That was until he noted a feminine hand on his chest that had a finger tapping a strange beat. Morse code, could be. He was too tired to think.

His eyes snapped when his mind finally processed what he was thinking. He grasped the hand that was on his chest and his eyes tore open to meet her blue ones.

"Well if getting knocked out was all I needed to get you into bed I would've done it ages ago."

He let go of her hand as if he was burned, his head rising from the pillow as he gazed at her in surprise.

"You're awake?"

She raised an eyebrow at his disheveled appearance.

"Hello to you too."

He quickly scanned her face for any discomfort and she rolled her eyes at his antics.

"I'm okay." she assured him and with a groan his head hit the pillow.

"Good. That's good."

He tried to rub his forehead to get some sense into it. Her hand was back on him tracing an imaginary line across his arm.

"Do I even want to know why a woman with rather familiar features knocked me out, hm?"

There was amusement in her voice and he was glad she was making light of the whole situation. He had enough of doom and gloom.

"Family drama."

Her eyes locked with his first in confusion then recognition. Smart woman.

"Well never say that Holmes family does anything half measured."

A laugh escaped him and it felt good, to take a moment and decompress it all, with her.

"Yes we are not the ones to forget that's for sure."

Now before she could ask about it, he decided to stop the games. Like with his family, he really had enough of them.

"Why did you come here?"

She closed her mouth, surprised at his forward nature. She saw that something's changed in him since the last time they saw each other.

"I came her to ask you about dinner."

Her eyes were mischievous, like they always were when she intended to misbehave. Sherlock was reluctant as ever to admit that he liked that. She always went her own way, it was up to him if he wanted to follow.

"Really Mrs. Adler?"

He turned to face her, a lazy smile curving her lips upwards as if she read on his face what he couldn't say. But not to be outdone he read her as well. Her calm hope simmering underneath the surface.

"Really Mr. Holmes."

They locked eyes and he felt this rush of adrenaline, the one he craved for when he took the drugs and searched for a new case. The one he always felt with her. He slowly traced her fingertips between them never braking eye contact.

This she won't see coming.

"How does 7 sound Mrs. Adler?"

There it was - the genuine happiness and disbelief she often tried to hide. The humanity he tried to bury so hard was shining freely in her. What surprised him more was that he didn't want to hide from it.

"It sound perfect Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock noticed how close they were, with her fingertips woven between his. They grinned like high school kids, exhilarated at the new notion. She started to close the distance between them and he grinned.

He's not going to make it so easy for her.

He twisted her around and spooned around her back. Her yelp of surprise almost had him laughing, but he kept it as cool as he could.

"Good, now be quiet and let me get some sleep."

She laughed at his antics again and he never thought that it would be this easy.

"You know you aren't fooling anyone, but have it your way." She quipped before turning her head towards him and whispering, "Because later you are mine Mr. Holmes."

With that she clasped their hands over the blanket and went back to sleep. He released a deep breath. He was in over his head for sure. Might as well enjoy it.

"The Woman."

He muttered and as the last light faded so did he, but not before hearing the door open for a bit and a scoff that followed.

"Only texting, my ass."

With that the door started to close, but he said it anyway.

"Good night John."

As the footsteps started to fade he heard his best friend mutter.

"The crazy bastard gets it all. Unbelievable…"

If he said something else Sherlock didn't hear, finally getting some well-deserved rest.

-/-

The floor beneath echoed his footsteps as he found himself once more on the unfamiliar ground. A sigh escaped him as he passed through what could only be a billionth checkpoint, everyone curious about the case he was carrying but he paid them no mind. His mind was somewhere else.

The past few day have been weird but he and John have managed to once more find common ground and slowly start rebuilding their friendship.

He was used to there being the three of them with Mary there that it just somehow felt natural now. One amazing woman made place for another in their small group.

Sure there were constant jabs from John, but he took it all in a stride, happy to see his friend looking on the brighter side of things and smiling again. Even if that brighter side was made of witty remarks about the posh boy and the dominatrix.

It felt weird to think about it like that, but he has made place for her in his life. Space for her cup in his cabinet, her toothbrush next to his, her side of the dresser and closet. He almost scoffed at how mundane it all sounded.

Still, for a change he liked it that way. His phone rang and the guard shot him a look of disapproval. He ignored him again. Placing the phone to his ear, he took the case and was on his way.

"You actually picked up?"

He let out a sigh. Really, this is what he had to deal with.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Most of the time you ignore me and maybe text me how wrong I am until I come to your place begging for enlightenment Sherlock. I am an inspector, have some decency for crying out loud."

Sherlock glanced at the doors he was passing, looking for the right one.

"Well Greg… We can both agree that is just not how we do things around here."

He heard buzzing and yelling of the people on the other side, whispers about the great detective being there – must be for a big case.

"How about we skip the groveling this time and for once you do your job properly hm?"

Finally his eyes settled on the door he was looking for all along.

"I will when you do yours. Send the files to my flat. She will get them. Maybe she can solve it and spare you the embarrassment of needing me."

At that there was nothing but silence on the other end before an answer came.

"She? Adler is there." Lestrade said with a sigh. "Christ Sherlock that woman scares me more than you do."

He was not far away now.

"Smart man."

A pause and then, "I'll just give it to Anderson."

Sherlock frowned at the chemical smell that attacked his senses, but his lips curved upwards at Lestrade's solution.

"Less smart, but better him than you."

"I'll say…"

With that the line went dead. Just as well, he didn't have anymore time for the good inspector. Family matters.

A single guard was stationed by the door. Tired and bored out of his mind. He glanced at him before just nodding for him to move along. Good he couldn't tolerate another… checkpoint.

As he went inside, the room looked much bigger than he thought. One chair on the side and two familiar figures in the room. He only caught the end of the conversation.

"… and that was as expected of Sherlock, being naked in the Buckingham palace and having the decency to look offended that we called him on it…."

A soft laugh escaped her and her eyes drifted to him. She looked better. More… human.

Mycroft noticed him too, so he got up and prepared to leave. He looked relaxed and back to his sober self. Good to see it.

"What are you doing here Mycroft?"

The man in question pulled at some imaginary lines on his suit before turning toward the exit. When he stood next to him he only said quietly for his ears only, "Make things better this time around."

Sherlock watched him for a moment before saying.

"Tell mother I'm not coming for dinner."

That stopped Mycroft dead in his tracks. A look of exasperation and fury on his face.

"You can't do this to me Sherlock. I won't last five minutes with those primates. I'll be wishing you would've shot me in no time."

Sherlock only moved towards the chair, looking towards Eurus who was watching their ridiculous exchange with a look of fondness on her face.

"Don't tempt me brother."

With a huff Mycroft was ready to leave, but then he stopped, a slow smile appearing on his face. He looked like a reptile who's just seen noticed his prey out in the open.

"I'll tell them to invite Miss Adler instead then. I'm sure mother will love to hear all about her son and the woman misbehaving."

A cold shiver passed through his body.

"I'll be there at eight."

Mycroft smiled in victory. Like he found that little string to pull Sherlock when need be. Oh goody. This will turn out great.

"I'll see you there Sherlock. Eurus… Until next time."

Sherlock only wasted as they said their goodbyes.

"Mycroft."

Things were slowly moving along. Good. He looked at her side of the room and noticed that her side was separated by some sort of a glass barrier.

He took out the instruments from the case. Violins. The look of tempered excitement was clear on her face as he placed it towards her side through the small containment. He observed the panel next to it. Easy enough. He typed a few numbers and went to work.

Sherlock took his own violin as she did the same.

"I figured you and I never did well with words. You have Mycroft for that."

She nodded in agreement.

"Small comfort of memories. It would be nice to make new ones. But as you can see this prison will make things difficult."

A sadness that he thought was disappearing came back in full force.

"You will need a bow. Step towards the glass…" he said as she uncertainly took a slow step towards it. He did the same.

"This could be a prison only if you let it Eurus." He said extending the bow towards her through the space where the glass should be. She looked surprised and slowly in disbelief took the bow from him.

He only nodded knowingly as she glanced towards the security panel he clearly disconnected.

"You are not a monster Eurus. You just didn't have anyone to show you differently."

He took his spot a few steps back with his own violin ready to start. She did the same.

"And now you will do that?"

After a moment he took her in, the way she had changed in such a small span of time and how she was still striving to do better, to be better. He smiled at her and started slowly to play.

"One thing at a time little sister…"

She almost gasped at the warmth she heard in his voice, but instead she stood tall and joined in with her own instrument.

"Well Sherlock. You think you can play. Let me show you really how it's done."

After that nothing but Sonata 1 could be heard, and two people slowly coming to terms with how things have changed. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing in the end.

His phone beeped and he let Eurus continue to play as he looked at the phone. It was from John.

_Red alert Sherlock, Mycroft just invited Irene to a dinner at your parents place._

The phone slipped from his fingers and clattered on the floor.

Sod it all. He should've shot him.

THE END


End file.
